


A Series of Implausible Events

by AnimeMonster



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Angst, Cecil is Inhuman, Desert Bluffs is sick, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Kevin is Inhuman, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Re-Education, Stockholm Syndrome, read the notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimeMonster/pseuds/AnimeMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bout of Aliens-Made-Him-Do-It with his double, Cecil is returned to Night Vale with the knowledge of the horrors his double faces every day and with a feeling that he betrayed Carlos. Things are even more complicated than they were before. With council mandates, a rescue attempt, and a baby on the way, things are really, going to be crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Series of Implausible Events

**Author's Note:**

  * For [manxome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manxome/gifts).



> You do not have to read the RP thread that precedes this story to understand it, I will summarize everything in the first chapter, with details as I go along. If you want to read the thread it can be found at [The Love Hotel @ Dreamwidth](http://the-love-hotel.dreamwidth.org/991988.html?thread=122124788#cmt122124788). I am the Cecil mun and Kevin mun is manxome.
> 
> There will likely be more tags added as this fic is written, the ones put down are the ones I intend to use for now.

Cecil was sore when he woke up. Considering the last time he woke up he was also sore, he expected to be in the metal stable surrounded by the contraband wheat by-product “bedding”. Instead, before he even opened his eyes, he heard chanting in a long dead language. (Was that Assyrian or Babylonian? He couldn’t tell at the moment.) But hearing those words gave him the courage to open his eyes.

Was it just a dream? What did it mean to dream of being abducted by unknown beings, drugged, and forced to have sex with your double who revealed himself to be from Desert Bluffs mean? Cecil looked up at his ceiling, which was oozing something that vaguely resembled tar, if tar was lavender and not black. He frowned, he would just have to go yell at his neighbors again.

He set up and rubbed a hand through his hair. The sheets fell and pulled in his lap, he didn’t remember falling asleep naked. No, he knew he didn’t. It was then that his hand brushed past his left ear. He froze.

Cecil moved his hand back to his ear and felt around. He did not have any ear piercings, but there in the upper cartilage of his ear was a seamless metal cuff going straight through his ear. He could feel raised bumps and sunk grooves in the surface of the cuff, but no way of removing it.

With trepidation he looked down. At first all he saw was the usual swirling tattoos, moving about quicker than normal due to his agitation. He took two deep, calming breaths, watching his tattoos slow down. With his tattoos back to their normal pace he could see the one tattoo that wasn’t moving. There, right below a new scar in the shape of a brand was a barcode. He moved his fingers over the brand, an alien symbol that reminded him vaguely of a symbol he saw in Weird Spanish. It was slightly tender to the touch, but didn’t burn. It was a perfect burn scar, only the skin of the brand affected, but not the rest of him.

His mind flashes.

_His double across from him in the small room, they’re talking._

_Making a wheat by-product free space and trying to keep as far away from the black eyed man that looked so much like him._

_His double next to him, talking about his life in Desert Bluffs. Those sickos._

_His double revealing himself. The scars between his legs. So many scars on his double, and these are by far the worse. His double was maimed, his tentacles cut off._

_His double writhing in his lap, begging for more. They’re kissing._

Cecil gets up and makes a run for the bathroom. He’s coving his mouth to prevent the bile from dripping to the floor before he makes it to the toilet. It’s noisy, it’s gross. His body wretches as he coughs up anything in his stomach. Stomach acids and bits of mozzarella ball soup move up his throat and into the toilet. Even after he’s done, he rests his cheek against the cool porcelain rip and hugs the base.

After what he did, he hadn’t even bothered to ask his double for his name. He moves his hand to flush the stool as the acrid stench of his own former-stomach contents make his stomach roll with nausea again. His eyes feel wet and he doesn’t even know he’s crying until, after the toilet finishes flushing, he hears the soft splash of his tears into the fresh toilet water.

“Oh gods, what have I done?” he whispers to himself. He wretches again as his mind brings up an image of his double riding him. Nothing comes up, though, there’s nothing more in his stomach to throw up.

After a few moments he crawls into the shower, turning the water to hot. It’s scalding and he’s sure that one of his neighbors will complain about him using all the hot water, but he can’t bring himself to care. He wants the hot water to wash away his sins. Even as it burns him, turning his skin lobster red, he doesn’t move. He deserves the punishment, he deserves the pain.

Another flash, this time of his double’s scars, it’s enough for him to turn off the water. He gets out of the shower and moves into the bedroom to locate his phone. He finally finds it, cowering in a corner, straining against its charging cable. He picks it up and hits the speed dial for Carlos.

“Cecil?” Carlos asks, upon answering. Carlos must have caller ID, Cecil thinks.

“Uh… yeah…” Cecil answers, his voice shaking.

“Cecil, is something wrong?” Carlos asks.

Cecil is quite for a moment before answering, “Can I come over? I… I need to talk to you about something and… it’s not appropriate to do so over the phone.”

“Uh,” there was the sound of glassware clinking together. “Yeah,” Carlos eventually responds, “we can talk in my rooms.”

“I’ll be over soon,” Cecil said. ‘ _I love you,_ he couldn’t bring himself to say. Not after the betrayal he had done. He hangs up and sets his phone on the table it had been on when he went to sleep. It immediately scuttled off the table and back to its corner.

Cecil walks to his dresser and pulls out a pair of clean underwear, pulling them on. His mind is in a whirl of how to tell Carlos. He feels sick, again, thinking of Carlos reaction. It was so easy last night thinking that Carlos would understand. But here in the light of day, back in his apartment in Night Vale, Cecil remembers that not only is Carlos an outsider, with different morals and ideologies, but Carlos is the person that Cecil cares for the most in the world. He doesn’t want to think about what Carlos’ rejection might do to him. Even for Night Vale, sex outside of a monogamous relationship was a taboo.

Thinking about this he manages to put his pants on backwards and get his head stuck in one of the arm holes of his undershirt. Sighing he focuses more on putting his clothes on, quickly correcting the mistakes and choosing a shirt. Once dressed he quickly brushes his teeth, mostly to get that taste of throw up out of his mouth and to feel partly human again, and goes to collect his phone.

He doesn’t bother to eat. He doesn’t want anything in his stomach if he’s going to throw up again. It was only as he was locking his apartment door behind him, lavender ceiling ooze forgotten, that he realizes he betrayed Night Vale, as well as Carlos. Was Carlos truly more important to him than the city itself? Yes, yes, he was.

He walks to the lab, wondering if the Sheriff’s Secret Police will pick him up for his traitorous actions and thoughts. He wants to get to Carlos’ lab, he wants to explain himself to Carlos, first. He doesn’t trust himself to drive, though. Not in his current state, especially not after he managed to walk face first into a light pole.

He can’t even bring himself to acknowledge the greetings of fellow Night Valeans as he walks. John Peters, you know the farmer, tries to tell him something about the Invisible Corn Crop as he walks past the Ralphs, but he shakes his head, to indicate he’s not listening. He sees an Erika, wearing a rather garsh knit sweater made by Old Woman Josie, cross the car park, hanging out the washing. He turns away.

He passes a Subway restaurant and a closed subway station. Then he’s passing Big Rico and wonders if the mozzarella tomato-sauce soup he ate yesterday counts as his weekly Big Rico’s, or if it didn’t count anymore because he threw it up. If he felt like eating after this meeting with Carlos, he would eat something at Big Rico’s just to be safe.

He passes Carlos’ lab and walks into the alley on the far side from Big Rico’s, before heading to the back of the building. There’s a set of stairs leading down to a door that’s mostly below ground level. Carlos’ apartment is below the lab. When Cecil had asked about it, Carlos had explained that if something happened in the lab above, he would still have a roof over his head. The logic was sound, he raised his hand and knocked on the door.

“Just a minute!” Carlos called from inside. His voice was muffled by the door and walls, but Cecil could still hear him. Cecil chewed on his lower lip waiting for the door to open. He didn’t have long to wait, less than a minute after he knocked he heard footsteps coming to the door. There was the sound of a chain being drawn back and a deadbolt disengaging before the door opened to reveal Carlos.

As always Carlos looked wonderful. He was wearing a faded Half-Life t-shirt and jeans with one of his ubiquitous lab coats, this one had an odd green stain on the left cuff and a burnt hem, clearly a lab coat for dirty work. There were even a set of latex gloves poking out of Carlos’ right pocket and a “Not-a-Pen” hanging on the inside of the left pocket.

“Cecil,” Carlos said, stating the obvious. Carlos’ gaze drifted across Cecil’s form and he frowned, but didn’t comment on what he saw that made him frown. “Come in, can I get you anything, coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Cecil replied softly, entering the apartment. Carlos shut and locked the door behind them and led him over to the couch.

“Have a seat,” Carlos said, sitting down casually. He turned, making sure he faced Cecil. Cecil gingerly sat down, it wasn’t that he was afraid that the couch would bite, but now being here, with Carlos, he was afraid of what would happen. He kept his eyes on the slate grey wall in front of him. He must have been staring for a while because Carlos put a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Cecil? You had something to say to me?” Cecil could hear the concern in Carlos’ voice, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve Perfect, Beautiful, Wonderful Carlos’ concern.

Cecil grimaced and shut his eyes. “I don’t know where to begin,” he answered honestly.

“The beginning is always a good spot,” Carlos offered, helpfully.

“The beginning…” Cecil said. “You remember the Sandstorm we had back in March when we all met our doubles?”

Carlos frowned, Cecil realized he never heard Carlos mention his experience with the sandstorm, but Carlos nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Before the weather segment a portal opened up in my booth and I traveled through it. I arrived in a booth so much like my own. The microphone was different, though. But what was most different… what… what…” he choked, “it was covered in blood!” he finally gasped out. “There was blood and viscera everywhere. A hand dangled from the glass of the booth, still dripping blood.”

Carlos put a hand on Cecil’s back, rubbing gently. Cecil hadn’t been aware that he had drawn his knees up to his chest and pressed his forehead to them. “Shh….” Carlos whispered.

“But, that’s not, that’s not the end. After putting on their weather segment, I went back through the vortex and saw a man. He looked… he looked like me… but his eyes were as black as obsidian and he wore a strange not-smile on his face. He came towards me and attacked, I tried to choke him, but I remembered that I told people not to kill their double, so I let him live. He returned to his blood bathed studio and I to my nice dry studio, just as the weather report ended,” Cecil said. He wasn’t sure if Carlos had been listening at that point or not. He wouldn’t blame him if Carlos was struggling with his own double. Especially if that double was the StrexCorp scientist that his double had spoke of last night.

Cecil swallowed, heavily. His tongue felt heavily and he became aware that he was crying again, just the memories were enough to make the tears flow. Carlos wiped his cheeks and eyes gently with a tissue, but didn’t interrupt. “I had hoped that I would never see that man again. I prayed that I would never see that man again. I never wanted to see that man again. Last night, though, I was abducted by forces unknown. I was poked and prodded, branded and given a tag and barcode then left, drugged with some sort of sex drug in a seamless steel room with straw on the floor. My double was there, too.”

“Did he hurt you?” Carlos asked. What? Cecil looked at Carlos, why would he draw that conclusion. His confusion because Carlos asked gently, “Did he rape you?”

“Rape me?” Cecil asked, shocked. “No… no, I… I raped him. Even after everything he said. Even after seeing his scars, even knowing we were both drugged up to the eyeballs and he was drugged way beyond that. I had sex with him. I fucked him, Carlos, I… I…” he couldn’t continue, his stomach heaved again, and he ran, towards the bathroom, where he dry heaved over the toilet bowl again.

Carlos followed him in. and stood next to Cecil, gently petting his hair, and holding it back. He was quite until the heaving stopped before he said softly. “I don’t think you raped him,” Carlos said. “That would imply that you wanted to have sex with him, with no outside source telling you to do so. You know you were drugged; whatever abducted you raped you both, viscerally. You’re too gentle, to want to harm your double like that.”

“Carlos?” Cecil looked up at Carlos. His boyfriend stopped petting his hair and filled a little cup with water from the sink handing it to him. Cecil took it and drank it. “You’re not mad at me?”

“No, Cecil, it would be pretty shitty of me to be mad at you for something you did under forced drug use,” Carlos said. “It would have been hard to believe, but the tag in your ear is pretty obvious and does not appear to be made with any technology we have here on Earth. The fact that you’re so broken up about it tells me you feel guilty. Cecil, you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“Even if I want to go to Desert Bluffs and kidnap my double and bring him back to Night Vale to be safe?” Cecil said quickly.

Carlos stopped, frowned and then said, “You’ll have to explain that one.”

“They’re abusing him, Carlos. They… they keep him in such a drugged state, he’s not even aware that his booth is covered in blood and viscera, just thinks it’s strangely damp. And he has scars,” Cecil winces as he remembers specific ones. “They maimed, him, Carlos. They cut him to pieces and made him into what they want him to be.”

Carlos slid to the floor and pulled Cecil against him. “No wonder you’re feeling guilty,” Carlos whispered, stroking Cecil’s head. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. It is not your fault that you were forced to have sex with your abused double. I’m sure you resisted as much as you could.”

“He was enthusiastic about it. He wanted it… He acted like all he wanted was to please me,” Cecil whispered.

Carlos shook his head, “I’m not a psychologist, but I took a basic psychology course in college. It’s common in long term abuse victims for them to feel as if they deserve the abuse. It’s also common for them to try and please others to prevent the abuse. It sounds like your double is a long term abuse victim and he hoped that by pleasing you, you would care for him and not hurt him.” He took a breath, “Even if that’s not the case, I’ll help you rescue him from Desert Bluffs, I refuse to turn my back on abuse.”

Cecil choked back a sob and buried his face in Carlos’ shirt. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Carlos smiled gently and held Cecil tight, “You were persistent and didn’t give up hope that I would pull my head out of my ass.”

“It’s such a perfect ass, too,” Cecil joked, trying to cheer himself up.

Carlos laughed, “Not as perfect as yours.” He then leaned forward and kissed Cecil’s forehead. Cecil’s stomach growled, audibly, “Hungry?” Cecil nodded. “Let’s get you cleaned up; we just missed the lunch crowd at Big Rico’s so we should have some privacy.”

Carlos stood up and offered Cecil a hand. Cecil took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. “Thank you, Carlos,” Cecil said.

“You don’t have to thank me, Cecil,” Carlos said. “I’ll always want to help you.”


End file.
